


Atlas

by Morethancupcake



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: A little angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jealous!Oliver, M/M, a little on the sexy side, bottom!Connor, insecure!oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Connor is the perfect boyfriend. Not because he tries, oh no, and certainly not because he's himself perfect. No. He's perfect, because of all the little things he lets slip. He's perfect because while he's all arrogant and strong in the outside world, here, in the appartment, safe from the prying eyes he's downright adorable. "</p>
<p>Oliver, and Connor, and fragments of their everyday life. Together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt a lovely anon left on my blog :)
> 
> You can read it here if you're more a tumblr kind pf person : http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/109511919764/atlas

Oliver is good with orders. He’s good at rules, he’s goot at keeping a schedule. He’s always the one you can rely on, the one who remembers, and takes note. People make fun of him, but he knows he’s needed. In a world where everyone is running, people like Oliver are pillars, they have the weight on the world on their shoulders, like Atlas.

It had been easy, at first, spending time with Connor, because the rules were simple. Sex, food, don’t get attached, repeat. It was simple.

Then it had been all but simple, and now it’s just a chaos.

Connor comes almost every night. He stays over on most week-ends, and he does mundane things like the groceries when Oliver is still at work, or takes care of the laundry. He smiles like a kid when Oliver notices his favorite brand of cookies in the cupboard, and he comes to collect a kiss. Because they do that now. They kiss, and they smile in their mugs, and they kiss a little more, just because.

He knows to most of Connor’s friends, he’s the compter guy, and he’s okay with that, but when they’re out a someone is too close, Connor always tells them “that’s my boyfriend over there”.

It’s confusing. But sweet.

If someone once had said to him he would one day think of the law student as sweet… Yeah, it’s still a little overwhelming to think about it, sometimes

Connor is the perfect boyfriend. Not because he tries, oh no, and certainly not because he’s himself perfect. No. He’s perfect, because of all the little things he lets slip. He’s perfect because while he’s all arrogant and strong in the outside world, here, in the appartment, safe from the prying eyes he’s downright adorable. He begs for kisses, hands neatly folded on his back, a little bobbing motion so just their lips are touching. He laughs at Oliver’s jokes, and he insists on watching horror movies safely tucked under his arm. They know a Connor who wins and smirks, he knows Con, who eats chocolate cereals in the morning, and whines until his boyfriend gets him ice cream in bed.

Connor is smart, Connor knows it’s not always easy. He knows Oliver is sometimes scared.

Maybe that’s why they are so drawn to each other, why they are so good for one another. Connor gets him, and loves him. And this, he believes.

It’s not easy, it’s never easy. When they’re not fighting about pillowcases and new mugs, Oliver cries in the shower, and he knows Connor shakes when he pretends to sleep. It’s not always easy, but they make it work, always.

"What are you thinking about, here in the dark ?" Connor is handing him a mug of ginger tea, because he noticed earlier how cold he was. They’re ready to sleep, and Oliver looks at him as if it was the first time, because he just can’t believe it, sometimes. He grabs the mug, and Connor laughs softly, going back to check the door, and turn off all the lights. He rambles about his day, and how unhappy he is at the idea of waking up tomorrow. He tries to avoid Oliver’s gaze.

"Connor ?" He stops in the bathroom, and the silence is all that Oliver needs. "Come back to bed. Now."

People see them, and they always picture him like the good little boy, the one who puts his head down and follows orders. They don’t know about this, and he’s glad. No one needs to know.

It’s something heady and strong, like good French wine on summer nights. He’s drunk on it all, the way Connor blushes under him, the way he moans against him, around him. The way he’ll beg, and whimper, and whisper urgently how much he loves it, loves them, loves him. He smiles at the little laugh Connor lets escape when he grabs at his hair and pushes him down. It’spure happiness and it makes him feel perfect, too. He forgets to be shy and tells him how loved he is, how beautiful he is like that. Connor grabs the edge of the matress and Oliver tells him about the first time they really made love, about the way Connor moves perfectly under him. He whispers, dark against the nape of his neck “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll tell you about how good you are with your mouth.” and he has to muffle Connor scream with his hand.

He laughs softly, after, when Connor whines and moans about how good it was, about how evil he is to do that to him now, that he’s incapable of moving and he’s thirsty and gross, and a little hungry. They exchange warm happy smiles, when the younger man gets him to go find a warm towel, and a glass of water please, because you didn’t need to be a beast about it, Ollie, all I needed was a little warning.

Yeah, people don’t need to know about the way Connor goes to sleep wrapped around him. The way he’s now wearing red marks on the nape of his neck from his lover’s nails. The way he can get Connor to blush and accept almost anything with just the right voice, and just “sweet boy”.They’re quite fond of the nickname.

In the morning, they fight for the shower, and Connor apologize with the last croissant and a fresh mug of coffee. They talk about the friday night, and all they want to do during the week-end. Connor has to stop because he phones won’t stop ringing, and it’s this guy he has to flirt with to get infos, and Oliver tries not to feel sad. He knows it’s something Connor has to do, and he knows it’s part of the way his boyfriend deals with things. Now, of course, he doesn’t even kiss, and he never lets it go that far, but still. It hurts. He wishes he could shake it off, and laugh at the man’s texts, but he can’t.

"You know I love you, right ?" Connor is crowding him against the counter, running his finger through his hair. He’s kissing his neck, his shoulder, he’s nipping tiny bites at his jaw. "I wish I could do thing differently, Ollie." His eyes are so warm, so focused on him, he tries to escape, but Connor keeps him grounded where he wants. "I wish you could see how handsome you are. You ruined me for anybody else, you know." He tries to shake his head, to laugh. "You know I love you, do you ?"

"I do. Now let me go to work." Connor kisses him like he’s air, water, sun. Like he’s everything. "Connor, I’m going to be late."

The dirty plates end up in the sink, and they’re forgotten. Oliver can’t even take a shower before rushing to at least try to make an apparition before lunch time. He knows his shirt is probably in need for a round with a steamer.

Connor is chaos, between them they destroy everything that was them, before.

He is late, but his boss dismisses it with a smile and a pat on his shoulder, going on and on about of good he is, how essential he is to the service. He tells him about Atlas, and how sometimes he believes Oliver is lifting them all on his shoulders.

He can’t find in himself to care.


End file.
